


Carmilla

by Dumnonii_Canton



Series: Carmilla [1]
Category: Pink Floyd
Genre: (Syd is a vampire that's the joke), Exhibitionism, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 13:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14854073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dumnonii_Canton/pseuds/Dumnonii_Canton
Summary: It was a walk in the park that reminded Roger that not all things last.Syd believes otherwise.





	Carmilla

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silence_that_never_stares_back](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silence_that_never_stares_back/gifts).



> Hey, Silence... I like your work. Can you start writing again, please?

_**1967** _

“Where are we, Roger?”

“…”

“Let’s go home, mate,” Syd’s voice cooed, whispering sweetness in a way that made Roger’s stomach roll and tumble, nausea beginning to bloom in his stomach. Roger seized Syd’s hand, sweaty fingers meeting fingers that were twitching and needing reassurance.

“What to do at home?”

“Um… We can watch ‘Monty Python’?” Syd’s shy smile, the one that made Roger think of sweeties and home and _Idon’twanttodothis_ , emerged from behind the mask of bravado and anxiety. Roger nodded, shifting their hands and letting their fingers lace together. Syd looked down at their fingers, interlaced, and Roger could feel the quivering of those fingers calm slightly. Oh, yes, Roger knew how Syd loved their fingers looking like this, but it did not make him react as it used to. The calm stillness of Syd’s fingers, trapped in Roger’s grasp, made Roger shudder with delight and shame, because this was his friend and he sounded just like Syd, even if this thing possessing Syd’s body didn’t play music the same way, sing the same way, or even say Roger’s voice the same way.

There was more – or something different – than the simple worship of another human being in the way that friends are accustomed to when interacting with each other; no, there was a sense of awe and fear, and Syd would never be afraid of Roger. Even now, Roger could feel the quivering of beautiful fingers beginning to come back, to seize the small bit of Syd that had just come back, that Roger leaned forward to taste.

At least this part was the same; no matter how old they got, Syd was a child between Roger’s hands, a malleable clay that Roger could shift between his fingers and manipulate however he wished. In the dark, Roger could press Syd to the trunk of a tree, sucking ever so slightly on Syd’s jaw and humming in what he hoped was a reassuring tone as Syd’s voice began to climb in pitch, a delicate mewling noise that had Roger almost rock hard after a few minutes.

“Goddamn it…” Roger muttered out, hissing as the harshness of his clothes was almost grazing the top layer of skin off of his cock. Syd kept whimpering, letting out soft pants when Roger began to suck and mark his neck. In the light, by the time that Roger was down, they would see a large button of a bruise that pulsed with Syd’s heartbeat.

They didn’t speak, Roger placing his hands on the tree trunk as Syd slid down to kneel, knees pressing into the damp soil which reminded Roger that they had laundry to do when they got back to his flat.

Syd reached up for Roger’s hand, delicate and calloused fingers reaching. Roger conceded. Roger hummed as his trousers were pulled down, but he hissed as the cool air of autumn met the iron-hot erection of his person. He whimpered and moaned as Syd’s hand, the one that wasn’t interlaced by Roger’s fingers, stroked his cock, his exposed thighs, and his balls.

“Fuck…”

“Hush, language,” Syd chided, and Roger had a cocky response that came upon impulse, but it became a litany of praise, soft and airy, near-silent, as a kiss was pressed against the head of his cock. A tongue came out, searing his skin and Roger let out a sharp exhale, the shock of heat sending a feeling of molten wax over him. As Syd began to swallow him down to the base, Roger knew that if Syd pulled off of him, the pleasure would be ripped away from him, leaving him raw and wounded.

He felt something against his cock, thin fingers that made their way into Syd’s mouth and adding friction to the warmth that Roger was finding harder to live without. After a short while, Syd took his own fingers from his mouth and began to trail it around to Roger’s lower back. The fingers, still wet, wandered down, and Roger tried to force himself to relax.

“Shh,” he could imagine Syd cooing, comforting, and Roger felt the first finger venture inside, his body resisting but gradually welcoming the intrusion. A thrusting motion eventually followed, and Roger panted as a bolt of pleasure began to race in a circuit through his body. Syd slipped in another finger and the burn of the stretch added another level of sensation to the pleasure of Syd sucking his cock.

He could feel Syd choking, muscles of the younger man’s throat twitching around Roger’s cock, but Roger didn’t stop to pull Syd off of him, not with how Syd was pressing two fingers directly into Roger’s prostate. He let out a choking noise as Syd pulled off of him, sucking deeply as a small pop led to the cold October air hitting saliva-covered cock.

“I-“

“No, not yet.” Syd nipped just at the base, and Roger let out a whimper as he could feel his orgasm pull back, his skin burning and pleasure going back into the base of his abdomen, whereas it had been bubbling in every bit of blood in his veins. The massaging of his prostate was agonizing, the pain teeter-tottering him from spikes of pleasure to stabs of pain from so deep inside of him that he could be Syd’s puppet – he _was_ Syd’s doll.

He couldn’t even beg, as breathless as he was. His nails tried to dig into the bark of the tree, Roger trying to find traction and balance as Syd slipped in another finger, massaging the whole surface of the gland that Syd could touch through muscle and flesh. Small bites to everywhere but his aching cock left Roger on edge, dizzy, and could he even remember his own name? He only remembered-

“Syd…?”

Hardly a whisper, more like the shape of an exhale, and Syd wrapped his whole mouth around-

Pleasure-pain coursed through Roger, a choked scream escaping him and echoing into the air, a chime into the night. His hands hurt, smallest pieces of bark under his nails. Syd swallowed and swallowed, letting the weight of Roger’s body push him back to sit on his haunches; in this way, Roger was able to rest his forearms against the tree, their now marked witness to their activities from the violence of Roger’s nails.

* * *

**_1984_ **

Roger came to the tree now, and he still saw the marks that his nails made.

He couldn’t see the prints that Syd’s knees had made.

They could never be there again.

**Author's Note:**

> P̕l̸͚̥e̯̯̩͔a͎̠̖̯͓̠̠̕s͓e̼͇̠̞.̝͚̺̰͍̠͍


End file.
